


public service and lavender feelings

by redyucca



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: (mom???), April is a True Ally, Episode Fix-it, Episode: s03e13 The Fight, F/F, Gay solidarity, Gen, M/M, Ron is a Reluctant Fairy Godmother, double-weddings, f-slur, jk, marshmallow gun violence, public service is both very rewarding but sometimes stifling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28683483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redyucca/pseuds/redyucca
Summary: Ann and Leslie get drunk and have a fight about the open position for PR Director of the Health Department but it's actually not a fight about that at all.Featuring: Leslie and Ben as wlw/mlm solidarity, pining after your best friend gay trope #407, snake-juice, Ann's red-dyed hair, crying, and swooning into soft sweaters.
Relationships: Chris Traeger/Ben Wyatt, Leslie Knope & Ben Wyatt, Leslie Knope/Ann Perkins
Comments: 11
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

“So what’s going on with you and Ben?” Ann asks, smiling wide and bright and dorky. While they haven’t been able to see a lot of each other, what with the Harvest Festival and Ann taking on more hours at work (in between her variety of new beaus), Ann’s enthusiasm for investing time and energy into Leslie’s life never seems to fade—another beautiful sparkly knife to join the others in Leslie’s heart. 

Leslie tries for a coquettish smile but probably lands more on confused. 

“Oh, nothing,” she sighs. 

What is going on with her and Benjamin Wyatt? A wonderful lifelong friendship, as far as Leslie is concerned. His weird no-nonsense antics and his obsessive geekiness are truly delightful, as well as his unrelenting work ethic, which Leslie both respects and appreciates more than she has the ability to express. 

Other people are starting to notice how much they like each other. Even Ron seems to approve of how often they seek out each other’s company, but that likely has to do with how Leslie goes to Ben now more frequently than Ron in order to get a harsh and objective opinion on a project or idea.

An easier question, one with a simpler answer, would be: What isn’t going on with Leslie and Ben? And then Leslie could answer in one word: Romance. 

* * *

“I really like that city garage sale idea,” Ben says as a waiter plops down a couple mugs of coffee in front of them. He had dragged Leslie away from her desk earlier on account of her being “sleep-deprived” and how “sleeping crammed up in a closet doesn’t count” and that she’s “exhausted, even if you don’t feel it, that’s the adrenaline, you need food and rest.” And Leslie had relented because _Waffles_ and also Tom was distracting her with his constant commentary on her smell and how “wearing hiking boots indoors is actually a federal crime, I’m going to call the FBI.” 

(“Hello? FBI? There’s a crazy woman here—I think she’s Tarzan’s ugly step-sister.”

“Next time you need to report a fashion crime, try using an actual phone. Might get better reception than your hand.” 

“Thank, _Ben_. I’ll keep that in mind for when you wear _yet another_ tie too skinny for your dumb fishy head.”)

Leslie sets about dumping all the creamers on their table into her coffee, one by one, after tipping over her nearly half of her mug into Ben’s. He smiles at the extra coffee and carefully collects all the creamer cups into a neat pile. 

“Thank you, yes, it’s great, right?” she says. “And cute. I feel like the Harvest Festival wasn’t cute enough. We really need to focus on projects that are cuter.”

“The cuteness factor in Municipal Policy and Services is highly underrated,” Ben agrees wryly. 

“I bet Ice Town would’ve been very cute,” she says, cackling at his sheepish eye-roll and blush. 

It’s easy to get lost in the sweet-smelling weeds of public service chat with Ben. He’s great at the practicals—the budget, the popularity polls, the bureaucratic framework—but Leslie always knows that he’s as passionate about it as she is. From the outside, it might look like he’s great at grounding her near-sighted zealousness. From the inside they both know, if anything, he’s nothing but an enabler at best and a cheerleader at worst, and has finally stopped feeling guilty about it. Ice Town would’ve been cute. 

Leslie is dipping her waffle in her coffee, saying, “I’m actually really good at hosting an auction. I’ve got a really fast tongue—”, when Ben’s phone buzzes on the tabletop. He drops his fork and picks it up quick, eyes widening as he reads the text. 

“Who is it?” Leslie asks, feeling that as Ben’s Best Friend in Pawnee, she’s allowed to be nosy. Perks of the position. 

“Just Chris,” he says, fond and amused. “I suggested that maybe the reason no one liked the muffins he brought into work the other day was that they weren’t sweet. I told him to put in _some sweetener_ , if not sugar. Like honey or something. Apparently the ones he brought in today were a success. Check it out.”

He holds his phone out to Leslie. On the screen is a blurry picture of Chris aggressively hugging someone from the City Attorney’s office in the middle of biting into a muffin. The text reads: _**honey and flaxseed are the best combination IN THE WORLD <3**_. 

“Awww, I love a happy ending,” Leslie says, leaning her head onto her hand. “Almost as much as I love sugar.”

Ben laughs and looks back at his phone, his amused grin softening. 

“Speaking of cute,” he says, shaking his phone once to indicate Chris before putting it away, the soft expression from before slipping off his face. 

He takes another sip of his (disgusting) black coffee while a thousand sparks go off in Leslie’s brain. 

She puts down her waffle and stares. 

“Something wrong with your waffles,” he asks, hiding a laugh. 

“Never,” she says, slightly offended in spite of her shock and the hundreds of other feelings lighting up her body like Christmas lights. 

“Okay…” he says. He doesn’t ask her what’s wrong, always comfortable under her scrutiny (one of the things that first attracted Leslie to him, and Ann, as well as every other dear person she has in her life). She continues to stare and think. 

She thinks of his exasperation, his general closed-off-ness, his studied bland style and unobtrusive-ness, behavior so dry (a perfect opposite for flamboyance), his one-beer minimum, and his flustered avoidance of Ron’s weird aggressiveness and Tom’s loudness. 

She thinks about how one time in the lead-up to the Harvest Festival, Leslie and Donna had been working late into the night and Leslie agreed to walk Donna out to her car and they had both seen Chris and Ben talking in the parking lot, Chris gesticulating enthusiastically and Ben laughing so hard, his head was tilted back, his eyes closed, hand pressed to his chest. 

Donna had said, eyes narrowed and paying attention, “Never seen that little-dude laugh.”

Ben was focusing on his potato salad, waiting Leslie out. Leslie has a brief moment of contriteness for the wrecking ball she was about to send through that relative peace. 

“How long have you been in love with him?” she asks anyway. 

He chokes, drops his fork on the ground, and coughs through the minor shock. Flustered but soldiering on, he replies smoothly, “Oh, ha _ha_. Original.”

Leslie doesn’t laugh and she can tell this throws him off a little, but he sticks to his game. She sits back and decides to stare him down. She’s a talker, she knows, and her normal trick is to talk and push and talk and push until someone gives way. But there are some things she never talks about. Never. 

He struggles to return to eating so he’s left returning her stare. And so they look at each other for several very long moments. Leslie keeps her face steady, eyebrows raised, refusing to blink. Ben slowly but surely melts under the unwavering attention, until his defiance is replaced with a sort of helpless sadness, one Leslie is all too familiar with. 

He pushes his plate away to make room to drop his face onto the table. 

It feels like they’ve completely entered an impenetrable bubble as Leslie looks at the grain spiral on the top of his fluffy head. She sinks down, resting her cheek on her folded arms, bringing their faces close together and muffling the sounds of the diner as she turns away from the rest of the world. She pokes his head gently until he shifts, placing his chin on the table and raising an arm to clutch at his hair and to create a barrier between them and the restaurant. 

He just looks at her until the longing balloons in her chest, threatening to break her ribs if she doesn’t speak. 

In a voice just above a whisper, she says, “Three years, for me.”

He frowns just a little before he asks in an actual whisper, more mouthing the name than anything: _Ann?_

Leslie nods and smiles at him, sad and relieved and suddenly very tired. 

“Five for me,” he replies. 

* * *

It’s both easier and harder after that. For the first time in Leslie’s life, someone knows she’s a lesbian. Many people have accused her of being gay. Many people have suspected, in spite of her long string of boyfriends. But no one has known, without a shadow of a doubt. And so, of course, her friends and close ones start to pick up on this new intimacy between her and Ben, and arrive at the wrong conclusion. 

One benefit to knowing and being known is how much more hilarious everything is now. They don’t even have to say an inside joke in order to be in on the joke. 

When Leslie is ranting to Ron and Ben that it’s too soon for Andy and April to get married, she asks, “Would either of you get married after only three weeks of dating?” And when both Leslie and Ben both burst out laughing, Ron assumes they’re making fun of his quickie ceremony with Tammy. 

When Chris tries to set Ben up, he says, “She’s your type! Tall and Brunette!” And Leslie catches Ben’s eye and smirks hard. 

And after Ben meets Lindsay Carlisle Shay he meets Leslie’s ferocious glare and says, “Really? Her?” and laughs as Leslie punches his arm. 

But with this newfound language comes the desperate fear. And now, Ann, her sweet ethical goldfish, her dearest friend, is asking Leslie about Ben, and Leslie wants to laugh until she cries and say, “Tragically, we’re both homosexual.” But she doesn’t. She pretends to be interested in a man, well-practiced and discreet. 

Ann drops the line of questioning and after lunch Leslie runs to Ben’s office. 

“We should date,” she says. 

“Um, hi?” he says, folding over a file and picking up his travel mug. “No, thank you?” 

“Listen,” she says, plopping down in the chair across from him and leaning forward to steal the orange on his desk. “It would be perfect! We’ll date, it’ll force Ann and Chris back together, because they’ll be spending so much time with us they’ll be forced to see each other, they would date and then get married and we would get married and it would be a double wedding! And we’d never have to live apart!”

Ben sets down his mug and crosses his arms. 

“Leslie.”

“Yes!”

“You want a double wedding.”

“Yes!”

“With me and you. And Chris and Ann.”

Leslie nods so fast, Ben blurs in front of her. 

“Why do you think this is any sort of solution?” Ben asks. 

Leslie says, “Well, it’d be nice to stand at the altar with someone I love. Legally.”

Ben uncrosses his arms and sighs deeply. 

“And what if Ann and Chris do get back together? What if they don’t want a double-wedding, because this is the 21st century, not a Jane Austen novel? What if they decide to move away from both of us? Then you’ll just be married to me. That’s it.”

Leslie feels herself getting unfairly angry at him but she can’t help it. 

“Well what’s wrong with that!” she demands. “We’re friends! We could do it!”

“Leslie,” he says. “Are you serious?”

“I would plan a great wedding,” she says, thumping her fist on the desk. 

“Obviously,” he says, reaching across the desk to take back his orange. “But this is ridiculous. I’m not going to date you. I’m not going to marry you. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

“Well, we need to find a way to keep them,” Leslie says, leaning back in the chair, blinking away her frustrated tears. 

“There is no way,” Ben says quietly. “Even working with him is going to end at some point.”

Leslie’s depression goes back to sleep, her frenzied thoughts now inspired. 

“That’s it!” Leslie says. “How long have you been traveling Indiana with Chris?”

Ben blinks warily at her as he starts peeling the orange. “Um, seven years, I think? It took them awhile to partner him up with me.”

Leslie grins, “Perfect! That’s how I’ll do it. I’ll become a nurse—no! a doctor, I’ll just go to medical school and then work with Ann at the same hospital and demand that she’s the only nurse I could work with and—”

“No offense, Leslie,” Ben says. “But that’s not a solution.”

“Prove it.”

Ben blinks. 

“There’s no way the burden of proof is on me,” he says, mostly to himself. 

Leslie frowns deeply at him. 

“Has anyone ever told you how dumb and unhelpful you can be.”

Ben sets down his orange and runs a hand through his hair, several times. Leslie tracks the movement, back and forth, back and forth. 

“Didn’t you marry gay penguins once?” Ben asks. 

Leslie is as used to his bluntness as he is used to her antics, so she sits back in the chair and props her feet on his desk. 

“Yes, Benjamin,” she says, groaning. “I did do that and it’s still one of the most terrifying days of my life, bar none.”

Ben smiles at her sadly but moves quickly onto his point.

“I just mean,” he says softly, fidgeting with his fingers over empty air, “that maybe that was a sign. Maybe…”

He clears his throat and avoids her gaze. 

“Maybe,” he says. “Maybe we don’t have to, well,…hide.”

Leslie clenches down hard on her palms as she crosses her arms. She’s stemmed the flow of tears over this particular topic so many times now, that it’s not difficult to choke them back. Still, she’s also never had a gay friend before, which makes things both funnier, easier, and heartbreaking than they were. 

“First of all, Ben,” she says, attempting to put on a playful weariness instead the actual weariness she feels, “that was an accident and it was still a giant scandal. Second of all, _Ben,_ how am I supposed to run for office someday if someone, _anyone_ , knows, well, _that,_ about me. Third of all, _sweet Ben_ , Penguins are not People. No one in rural Indiana will forgive us our sins because we’re cute. Because people are simply not as cute as penguins.”

“Well I have no intention of running for office,” Ben replies, pinching the skin between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Liar.” 

He sighs, but before he can say anything else, Chris comes skipping in. 

“Leslie Knope!” 

“Hey, Chris,” she says, packing away the tragedy of her life in a split second. “How are you?”

“I’m excellent,” he says, eye twitching, as he circles her to sit on the edge of Ben’s desk, next to her feet. “You two were just the people I wanted to see!”

“Well here we are,” Leslie replies, removing her feet and shifting back into professionalism. 

“What can we do for ya, Chris?” Ben asks, working at his orange again. 

“I love it when you say that, buddy,” Chris says, tossing a grin at Ben over his shoulder. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 _Wow_ , Leslie mouths to Ben behind Chris’s back. He subtly flips her off in reply. 

“Dr. Richard Nyard told me it’s healthy to express myself to my closest friends,” Chris continues. “He says that it’s unhealthy to bottle things up.”

Leslie raises an eyebrow and asks, “Do you think he meant it’s bad to bottle up bad feelings? Not happy feelings?”

Chris smiles gently and says, “I don’t have bad feelings, Leslie.” 

“Uh-huh,” she says, meeting Ben’s eyes as he hands her an orange slice. “So what do you need us for?”

Chris shakes off the gentle smile and returns to full-wattage grinning. 

“Have you perhaps seen all the signs up around city hall about a certain Jan Cooper?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Ben says thoughtfully. “Isn’t she some sort of agent of Satan?”

Chris replies good-naturedly, “No, but she is ‘Mayor of Whoreville,’ according to the Pawnee Health Department.”

Leslie chokes on her orange slice: “What.”

“Yes,” Chris continues genially. “Denis Cooper apparently decided to advertise his jilted feelings after his wife cheated on him and gave him a venereal disease. So we need a new PR Director for the Health Department. Hopefully someone less bananas.”

He flips his bright grin onto Leslie again. “Anyway, I wanted to ask if you could help choose his replacement, Leslie. Parks and Health work together on all sorts of projects—”

Leslie feels her entire body heat up as she cuts him off, “Ann should do it.”

She senses Ben’s steady stare on her face but Chris is immediately on board. “Ann Perkins?” he asks, cheerfully and without hesitation, and Leslie is ready to claim victory. 

* * *

Ann picks at the dry skin on her left knuckles and wonders if it would be weird to ask Chris for moisturizer suggestions. After he would give her five different supplemental vitamins and an entire lecture about healing crystals, she’s sure he would have inside information on some Aloe-based lotion containing the dew-drops of the grassy plains of Norway—or something. 

“Why did I dye my hair red?” she asks aloud, before she can stop herself. 

Nurse Rosenblatt, the only other person in the on-call breakroom, snorts behind her magazine, and replies, “It’s because you’re having a breakdown, dear.”

“Oh,” Ann says, sinking further into the couch, “yeah, that makes sense.”

Nurse Rosenblatt sighs and places her magazine on the table. 

“I wish we could still smoke indoors,” she says, tapping a finger on her lips. 

Ann groans and lays her head on the couch’s armrest. 

“What’s wrong with me, Hannah?” she whines. “I feel like I’m going insane.”

“Why’s that, dear?” 

“I don’t know—I’m asking you!”

All Ann gets as a response is the tapping of acrylic nails on the linoleum table-top. 

“I just,” Ann starts. “I don’t know. Maybe I should go to therapy. One of my friends is seeing a therapist. Apparently, when he realized that he was incapable of breaking up with someone, he decided that meant he had intimacy issues and was therefore going to be alone forever.”

“Wait, is this your ex-boyfriend? The marathon runner? The one who broke up with you but you didn’t notice?” 

Ann groans again and closes her eyes. “Among other things, yes.”

“So… he can’t break up with someone and you can’t be broken up with by someone…but he’s the only one with a therapist?”

“ _Ok_ ,” Ann says. “I know I’m the one who brought this all up, but maybe we can change the subject.”

“Honey,” Nurse Rosenblatt says, “I’ve worked with you the past eight years, and I can tell you right now, there’s nothing wrong with you. A handsome man deciding to leave you is no cause for a breakdown.”

Ann’s eyes burn with unshed tears and she manages to say, “Then why do I feel like this?”

“How do you feel?”

Ann breathes and concentrates. 

“Lost,” she says, finally. “Lonely, bored, tired, confused.”

There’s a pause and then Ann hears Nurse Rosenblatt’s sneakers stepping closer and then a weight next to her on the couch. 

“What’s confusing?” she asks. 

Ann is tempted to say ‘everything,’ but Nurse Rosenblatt was never one for imprecise answers. She concentrates again. 

“I just, I know I should be sad about Chris,” she says. “That I should care about the, frankly, _many men_ I’ve been seeing. My ex-ex boyfriend, Andy, you remember him?”

“Yes, the man-child from a couple years ago,” Hannah says. 

“Yeah, well, he got married a few weeks ago, and of course I heard Chris was _there_ , at their spontaneous wedding after only three weeks of dating, even though Chris alledgedly broke up with me because he didn’t want to do long-distance, only now he’s the City Manager, so who even knows with all that. And I just, Andy married April, who is just barely out of her teens, just barely old enough to drink, was still living with her parents, and I realized that I didn’t care about _Andy_ and _Chris_ but I was so annoyed that even though I’ve done everything right, I went to school and got a boyfriend and supported him through so much shit, I’m not exactly reaping the rewards. So then I think, well it must be because I’m so, well, normal and boring, and stuff. Like, maybe if were spontaneous like Andy and April, I would be excited about my life. But all that’s happened so far is that I’ve spent one more weekend than I ever wanted to at a dude-ranch and I’ve dyed my hair red.”

Ann breathes deeply while Nurse Rosenblatt pats her knee. 

“So, yeah, I guess, the question really is, why did I dye my hair red?”

Ann doesn’t get a reply, but she finds herself pulled into a stiff embrace and fighting tears again. 

“Also,” Ann chokes against Rosenblatt’s shoulder. “I don’t think I even like kissing.”

“Oh, dear,” Hannah whispers. “That’s very sad indeed.”

* * *

Ben catches up with Leslie in the parking lot, grabbing the handle of her rolling-file box before she could load it into her trunk. 

“What exactly are you planning?” Ben asks. 

Leslie whips around and yanks the handle out of his grip. 

“She was just telling me the other day that she can’t take the hospital hours anymore,” she starts. 

He cuts her off: “Is that what she said? Or is that what you heard? Do you think it’s possible that maybe she was just complaining about her job like everyone else does and doesn’t have any intention of leaving it?”

“Why would you complain about your job if you love it!”

“Not everyone is as thrilled about their career as you are! But that doesn’t mean they’re unhappy with it!”

“Well I _know_ she’s unhappy!” 

“No!” he cries, throwing his hands up. “ _You’re_ the one who’s unhappy!”

She stops and glares and he glares back. They both glance around the parking lot, relieved to see it mostly empty. 

“Do you really want to tell Chris?” she asks, wishing she didn’t sound so mean. 

He leans against her car and says simply, “I’m never going to tell him. I know that about myself. I’ve been hiding too long. It doesn’t matter.”

(One night, when they were working late, Ben told her about visiting New York in 1992 with his grandparents, after he was impeached, and seeing a protest on the street, signs asking President Bush to do something, _anything,_ about AIDs, and for a brief moment feeling like if he was still in power, he could and would, unlike the president, before their cab driver, flicking on his blinker to turn them around, muttered to himself, “Fucking fags,” and then Ben decided to banish the entire topic from his mind forever.)

(Leslie had held his hand while the tears ran silently down his face. He wiped them away himself and Leslie thought: _that’s probably what he did when he was 19, too._ )

“But that’s not what I asked,” Leslie says. 

“Yeah, I know.”

“Maybe if I see her more, I’ll get over her,” Leslie says, fake and peppy. 

“Hasn’t worked for me,” Ben warns. “Just, be easy on her, about this job. Don’t push. It’ll only hurt more for you.”

Leslie nods. 

“So, I’ll see you at Tom’s thing tonight?” she asks. 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he says sarcastically. “Maybe this time I’ll actually get drunk.”

* * *

“Hello, Chris.”

“Doctor! Is this a good time?”

“You know it is, Chris. We did schedule this. You don’t have to keep asking that every time we have a session over the phone.”

“I know, Doctor. Habits of public service. Always Be Accommodating.”

“So, is there anything on your mind you would like to discuss?”

“Well, yes. As a matter of fact. Do you remember Angela?”

“Your old assistant, from Indianapolis, that’s her niece, if I recall correctly?”

“That’s the one! Wow, good memory! I recently saw that she has come out as 'bisexual' on Facebook. It’s Facebook official!”

“Ok.”

“So I read the post and saw that Becky, my old assistant, commented on the post: _I’m so proud of you and I love you._ With three little hearts.”

“Alright.”

“After I read that, I went and cried in the shower for forty-three minutes.”

“Chris—”

“What if I was bisexual?”

“What if you were? Do you think you would be different?”

“No. I’m just. Worried.”

“I can’t say that you have no cause to be worried but I will say that you will only find acceptance and understanding with me.”

"...Thank you, Doctor Richard Nygard. Thank you."


	2. Chapter 2

Ann stared meanly down at the rolling file-box of binders while she pulled on her shoes. A combination of frustration, confusion, and genuine anger made her kick it as she walked out the door. Leslie had never gotten under her skin like this before. She’d annoyed her, plenty, talked over her enough, but Leslie’s enormous personality had always seemed refreshing to Ann, more a gift than anything—never a burden. 

And yet, here she was, driving to a shitty bar to get plastered with the sleaziest people she knows, throwing away an opportunity to work with her best friend.

Something was bursting underneath her right eyelid. If anyone pushed her tonight, she was sure it would combust and splatter blood over her nicest sweater. 

The thought calmed her. 

_Not a good sign._

* * *

Ron was already at the bar, sipping on the worst smelling cocktail Ann had ever encountered, and visibly smiling. 

“Wow,” she said, sliding next to him. “Look at you.”

“Nurse,” he nodded in greeting. 

“Ann,” she said. 

“Ok,” he replied. 

“Jesus, I can’t wait to get hammered,” Ann muttered, turning away from him. 

“Where’s Leslie?” Ron asked. 

Ann sighed and dropped her forehead on the counter with a thunk. She worried briefly about leaving a smear of foundation on the sticky wood but quashed it viciously. She didn’t _care._

“Ughhhhh,” she said. 

“Well said,” Ron replied, raising his glass at her as she peered over at him. 

“Ann! Babycakes!” 

Ann closed her eyes again. 

“Shut up, Tom. I really can’t with you right now.”

“Whoa, put away the claws, girl,” he replied, and even though she couldn't see him she knew his hands were up, looking as if this was the harshest thing she’s ever said to him. 

“Where’s your keeper?” she asked, lifting her head and accepting a glass of snake juice from Ron. 

“Donna’s over there with Chris,” Ron answered, pointing to the end of the bar. 

“Cool, I’m going over _there_ ,” Ann said, pointing with her thumb in the opposite direction. 

In ten minutes, she’ll be blasted and having an inane, borderline offensive, conversation with Howard. Maybe, with luck, her entire brain will just fall out her ear at some point, and she won’t have to think. 

* * *

Leslie hated _The Snakehole Lounge_. But she hated letting down her friends even more, so--

“Snake Juice? What? Here?” she shouted as she walked through the club. “High-end! VIP exclusive!”

Tom, for some reason, appeared comically glum when she found him at the bar. 

“People better start drinking this stuff,” he whined as his annoying friend started rapping her name poorly. 

“Well, I wish I could help more, but—”

“No, what?” Tom said nasally. “You can’t go!”

“I just feel bad,” she defended. “I need to go help Ann. She’s got a big interview tomorrow morning and she’s at home cramming—”

“I don’t think _Ann_ ’s the one who will going to be doing the cramming,” Tom laughed, high-fiving Jean-Ralphio. He pointed to the dance-floor and there was Ann, dressed in a cute sweater and skirt, hair down, dancing. 

“Oh,” said Leslie

(Of course, this has happened before. Not just with Ann, but with nearly every girl that Leslie simply loved. Slumber parties or movie nights, walks in the park, hikes in bigger parks, study sessions, concerts, breakfasts at diners, baking and puzzles—But then those girls grew into women, leaving Leslie behind.

Which is _fine_ , and good, and they deserve happiness.)

“So, Sexy-Leslie,” Jean-Ralphio simpered, putting a skinny arm around her shoulders. “Wanna show em’ how’s it done.”

Leslie ducked his elbow, put on a bright smile that hurt, and made her way over to Ann. 

* * *

Ben normally counted on Donna to be an understanding third party when Chris started ranting about health crazes. She was rather more secure than Chris, wouldn't do _anything_ upon recommendation (even got offended when people tried to recommend something to her), and was still the only person Ben had met who could look Chris in his manic eyes and say, “Relax,” without either getting a) charmed or b) cowed. 

Unfortunately, Ben found himself more often than not in the former category, and therefore found a degree of safety standing beside Donna’s enigmatic personality. Especially on a night where Chris seemed on the edge of being officially More Sincere Than Ben Could Handle. 

So it was a real betrayal when he discovered that Donna was on a juice-cleanse and thus not prepared to contribute to the ongoing project of Ben’s sanity. 

“Oh, I just can’t wait until you get the stage where—” Chris was saying. 

Before Ben could be privy to information he absolutely did not want to be privy to, he escaped to the bar, surreptitiously, where he found Ron badgering a man in a bolo tie. 

“Trust me,” Ron was saying. “I do not say this _lightly_.”

“How’s it going, Ron?” said Ben loudly, pulling Ron’s attention to himself and allowing the poor man to escape. 

“Wyatt!” Ron shouted, the most enthusiastic greeting Ben had yet received from the man. Ever. “Have you tried the Snake Juice, yet? Nectar of the gods, my friend.”

“Wow, you’re wasted,” said Ben. 

“I’m not wasted,” said Ron. “‘Wasted’ is for sorority girls. An investment bankers.”

“Sure,” replied Ben, scanning the crowd. 

He saw Leslie sitting down at a table with Ann. He could tell her face and shoulders were really tight, even from across the bar, and made to go to her, but Ron gripped his arm, hard, before he could move. 

“Son,” said Ron. “What’s the matter?”

Ben blinked and sent him a baffled look. 

“Are—” he stuttered. “Are _you_ asking me how I am?”

“I want to be clear,” said Ron. “That I do not care either way.”

“Mm-k.”

“But your face is small. And sad. And since you don’t annoy me as much as some…” he rolled his eyes to where Jean-Ralphio was now pestering Donna and Chris. 

“Who knew Ron Swanson was a sentimental drunk?” chuckled Ben, taking a sip of his light beer. 

Ron managed to groan without opening his mouth. 

“You have about ten seconds to tell me what’s wrong before I lose interest,” he said stiffly, again (somehow) without moving his mouth. 

“Relax, Ron,” he said, smiling. “I’m not going to talk about my problems. They’re definitely not something you can fix.”

“Heartbreak, then,” Ron guessed, grabbing a shot off the bar. “Men only say that when they have lady problems.”

Ben had nothing to say to that. Ron tried to shove a tumbler of snake-juice in his hands but Ben just set it back down on the counter. 

“Is it Leslie?” Ron asked. 

Ben took a much bigger sip of his beer. 

Ron followed his gaze to where Ann and Leslie were sitting, now with that extremely un-funny radio-man. 

“Hmmm,” mused Ron. “I worry about her.”

“Have you ever been this drunk in your life?” asked Ben. 

“When that police-officer moved to... wherever, I thought she would be heartbroken,” said Ron. He had his: I-Am-Offering-Advice-So-You-Better-Listen voice turned up full throttle. “I think if you moved away…well, son, I think it might be a different story.”

He raised his eyebrows significantly. 

Ben, watching Leslie slump slowly into her seat, said without thinking, “Yeah, same for me.”

“Ugh, so why are you waiting?” asked April, suddenly appearing next to Ron, dressed like a character out of the game _Clue_. She downed a shot and sent him a filthy look. “Just go ask her out already!”

Ben closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and finished his beer. 

“Thank you so much for the advice,” he said, wiping his mouth. 

“You are such a pussy,” April moaned, signaling the bartender for another shot. 

“Yup,” Ben agreed readily. 

Ron was now staring intently at his face and Ben didn’t have any more beer to distract himself. 

“You’re hiding something, little person,” Ron said, a barely-there slur in his voice. 

April turned away from her drink and started at him as well. 

“Do you have a secret?” she asked aggressively. 

Ben looked between them, and, tragically, _devastatingly_ , stupidly, he glanced, for half a _fucking_ second, at Chris (laughing next to Donna, his hand on her shoulder, they looked so beautiful together, why did that hurt so much), before saying, blankly, dryly, strictly, “Hundreds.”

Ron continued to frown at him suspiciously, as if wanted very much to poke him. But the damage, the damage of _half a fucking second_ , one glance (!), had been done. April’s eyes twitched over to Chris, and then dramatically widened. Her mouth dropped open, and she let out one long “ _Ohhh myyy goddddd_.”

Ben wondered, briefly, if he was having a heart attack. 

“Ben!” she said, halfway between utter shock and glee, twisting in her seat to face him fully. 

“I’m-in-love-with-Leslie,” he choked, desperately. 

“No you’re not,” said April, jumping off her stool and grabbing his face with both hands. They were inexplicably gloved.

“Ben,” she said, shaking his head a little. “This is the best thing you’ve ever done.”

He felt like she had taken his heart out, put it on a platter, and said it was the best meal she had ever had. He shook her off.

“I think you mean stupidest,” he said, focusing on his breathing. His peripherals were dark and blurry, which wasn’t a great sign.

“Wait,” said Ron, peering closer at him. “ _Who_ are you in love with?”

“ _Who's_ Ben in love with!?” Andy gasped, appearing over April’s shoulder without warning. 

Ben closed his eyes and recited the preamble while April shushed Andy. Then he rubbed his hand over his face, opened his eyes, vision cleared, and said, “I need another beer.”

Andy and April tried to stop him walking away but over the chaos of their protests and the club, Ben heard shouting. 

Leslie and Ann were in a fight. 

* * *

“I’m so happy to see you!” Ann said as she led Leslie to their table to get her drink. And she meant it—she was very satisfied with herself for meaning it. Which maybe meant that she didn’t mean it quite as much as she wanted to. But maybe maybe wanting was as good as truly meaning it. 

Anyway, Leslie was her friend.

“And I’m seeing you here!” Leslie said cheerfully. 

This was a confusing response, somehow, but Ann couldn’t parse why. 

“Yes!” she cheered. 

Leslie looked at her a moment, not meeting her eyes, before smiling at her sweetly. 

“I’m surprised!” she said. “I thought you would be home. Preparing for tomorrow.”

Oh, right.

“Well there was way too much stuff for me to read tonight anyway,” Ann brushed off. “I mean, it was a ridiculous amount of stuff that gave me.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled at Leslie, inviting her into the joke. 

“Oh,” Leslie said, not rolling her eyes, too. Ann probably shouldn’t be stung by that. Normally Leslie was aware when she was being ridiculous. Leslie continued, "But you are going in for the interview tomorrow?”

There was the olive branch. Ann nodded.

“I think so,” she said, reaching for her drink. Leslie looked away again as she drank hers.

“Wuh-oh! Is there enough room for some mayonnaise in this lady sandwich?”

Ann grinned, reaching a hand up to grab her drink from Howard’s hand.

“Ohhh,” she heard Leslie said. Her face was still smiling, though, so Ann thought this must be a good reaction.

“Leslie,” Ann said. “This is my friend Howard Tuttleman.”

Howard acted bashful, which was a nice touch. 

“Oh, please, call me The Douche,” he said. Ann loved how utterly stupid he was. “You probably know me from my morning radio show on 93.7: Crazy Ira and The Douche.”

Leslie’s smile was smaller, probably because Howard and Leslie had definitely met before, now that Ann thought about it. She remembered sitting with Leslie while she did her weird silent-panic, with wide-eyes and absolutely no breathing, because Ben had messed up a radio interview. 

“Yeah, I’ve, I’ve met you,” Leslie stammered, which was weird. “I was actually on your show once—”

Howard snapped his fingers, face lighting up. 

“Wait!” he said, and Ann was relieved he remembered. “Were you on the show when we had that stripper do math? Classic, right?”

Going off Leslie’s expression, that wasn’t the show she was on. But Howard turned back to Ann, and started wiggling his shoulders. God, Ann wanted to dance. She grabbed his hand and started swaying in her seat while Leslie drank. She should get on Ann’s level. 

“So how did you two meet?” Leslie asked. Still smiling. Everything was fine.

“We met at the supermarket,” said Ann. As good a place as any.

“I used my classic pick-up line: If you’re looking for douches, they’re in aisle me.”

Ann giggled with him and Leslie laughed (sort of—it wasn’t her normal laugh), which Ann grinned at. 

“Oh hey, by the way,” Ann said. “I don’t think I can get my book from, um, what’s his name.”

She’d remember it in a second. 

Leslie’s face was soft with something. Ann had a strange urge to braid her yellow hair. 

“Oh, that’s okay,” said Leslie, waving her hand and picking up another shot. “I should’ve known better than to loan something to one of your boyfriends. They come and go so fast.”

She laughed again, looking away from Ann.

“What are you saying exactly?” asked Ann. 

“Well, let’s be honest,” said Leslie. “How long’s gonna last with this guy?”

Now she was being mean.

“Sitting right here,” said Howard awkwardly.

“I don’t know,” said Ann, ignoring him. Literally, who cared. “He’s dumb, but he’s fun.”

“Thank you,” said Howard, unnecessarily. 

“That’s the whole point of dating around,” continued Ann. “You get to try on a bunch of different hats.”

Leslie’s smile was entirely gone and Ann felt either on the verge of sobering up or throwing up.

“Well this hat is an idiot,” said Leslie simply. 

“Hah! classic!” Howard, again, still talking for some reason.

“Leslie,” asked Ann, finally realizing what this entire conversation has been about. “Are you mad that I came here?”

“What? No, I’m not— are you—you seem mad at me…” said Leslie. 

Oh, well then.

“No, no I’m not mad at you,” insisted Ann. Wait, was she?

“I’m not mad you.”

“I’m not mad at all,” said Ann, which might be overkill.

“Neither am I.”

Ann tossed back another shot. Her head hurt.

* * *

Leslie tossed back a shot. Her heart hurt. 

The Douche glanced between her and Ann, smirking, and said, “Looks like you two need to kiss and make-up—”

“Alright—” said Leslie, choking back a scream.

He meowed at them. 

It was probably this, this very small, demeaning noise, that overwhelmed Leslie’s control. She downed a shot of snake-juice and snapped.

Their ‘conversation’ devolved rapidly from there.

Some minutes later, Leslie surfaced from the first haze of anger, but too buzzed to really let it go. 

“No offense,” Ann was saying. “But maybe you think I’m going too fast cause you’re going to slow with Ben!”

This was so unbearable, so thoughtless (even though Ann could hardly have any idea why), that Leslie’s rage returned. 

“No offense,” she yelled. “But I’m going slow because I might lose my job!”

She needed to remember what they were fighting about. 

“Okay, well, no offense,” replied Ann, her voice rough and slurred and hard in a way Leslie has never before. “But maybe that’s a little bit of an excuse for not acting on your feelings!”

Leslie needed, _more than air_ , to remember What they were Fighting About. 

“No offense,” she said, frantic to change the subject. “But I don’t remember you having a nursing degree in feelings!”

“Offense!" shouted Ann, pointing. "That’s rude!”

Leslie was relieved for a millisecond but then Ann continued, “I’m going to go dance. Douche, you’re up.” And then they were both walking away, Douche’s hand on Ann’s waist. 

Leslie clenched her fists and stood up, breathing rapidly. Her face felt hot, her body felt hot, her brain was inflamed. She couldn’t hear anything properly. Why was she so _angry_?

“Hey, are you okay?” said Ben. She didn’t see him coming but now he was here and his nice face made her want to cry. Which Leslie never wanted to do again. She _wanted_ to be angry.

“I heard yelling,” said Ben. She looked up at him, his eyes concerned, something a little off. But she had no intention of being sad. 

“Yeah, I’m very angry,” she explained. Hopefully he would get it. He normally does. “And I’m really drunk.” Good information for him to have, possibly. “Do you wanna dance with me? Go get me another snork-juice.”

Ben smiled at her (sadly, _stop being sad, Ben, it hurts_ ) and said, “Oh, that’s maybe not the best idea for you.”

She sort of wanted to ask if he meant the drink or the dancing together, but found she didn’t have the patience and she would do just about anything to not cry. 

“Forget it,” she said, turning away from him. Who would dance with her? “Jean-Ralphio!” she shouted in no particular direction. 

“Yes, I’m here,” he said within a second. _Geez-Louise._

“Dance up on me,” she snapped at him, not waiting for him as she marched off to the dance floor. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” he chanted, following her. 

She found Ann in the mix, looking purple and glowing, Howard’s hands on her hips. 

Instead of crying, she danced. Her shirt came untucked, Jean-Ralphio breathed obnoxiously in her ear, and everything about the way she moved was an absolute mess. She met Ann’s eyes, and thought at her viciously: _See, I can get a man, too. See._

Ann didn’t seem impressed.

* * *

Well, this wasn’t a good situation for Ben. His one ally was going through something that he couldn’t think of a way to help with, short of dragging her out of the club by the arm. April was making her way towards him, like a lioness going for the kill, and Chris and Donna were coming to investigate what was going on between Leslie and Ann. 

“Ben!” said Tom from behind him, clapping him on the shoulder. “Where’s your drink, man? Here.”

He put what looked like a full pint of snake-juice in Ben’s hand. 

“Join the party, you nerd!” he shouted, way too close to Ben’s face. 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” said Ben, just as April, Donna, and Chris descended on them. 

“Come on, dude,” whined Tom. “Look, it’s bringing people together.”

He pointed towards the bar, where Ron sat, wearing April’s little costume-cap, laughing with Jerry. 

“Whoa,” said April, distracted. 

“It’s also tearing people apart,” said Donna, nodding her head at where Leslie and Ann were back to shouting at each other on the dance-floor—mostly incoherently. 

“What’s going on there?” asked Tom, bewildered. This was a bit of a giveaway to how bad the situation was. Tom had literally been there, Ben knew, when Leslie and Ann met, so for him, a mostly selfish person, to look on what appeared to Ben to be simple fight, brought on my extreme inebriation, with actual concern made Ben sweat. 

“Is it about the job?” asked Chris, thoughtful as ever. 

“What job?” said Donna. 

They talked while Ben tried to think of an excuse out of the conversation, or the entire night. He gulped down the snake-juice, focusing on the physical burn and revolting taste.

Then April, voice cutting through the din, causing Ben to choke on his drink, said, “Ben knows.”

“Ben knows what?” asked Tom. 

April’s hard eyes were terrifying. “Ben knows what they’re fighting about.”

And the thing is, Ben didn’t know, really. What he knew, _suspected_ , was that Leslie was so high in emotion because she was irretrievably in love with Ann and she’d been hiding that for so long that she didn’t know how to stop hiding, or how to handle letting go. Knowing that Leslie was heartbroken was something he didn’t have any intention of sharing, but, unluckily, that he knew _something_ showed on his face and now April and Tom were prodding. 

“If you have a secret, you have to tell me,” said Tom. “As your best friend.”

Well, that was absurd. Before wondering what damage it could cause (was he drunk? he never got drunk, he made sure he never got drunk), he said, “ _Leslie_ is my best friend.”

The whole conversation was now well out of hand. 

Tom scoffed, like this was actually hurtful information.

April’s eyes widened again, a more terrible glee flickering in her pupils. (She was _too smart_ and Ben is going to avoid her for the rest of time.)

Donna said, “Awwww,” touching the sparkly broach on her sparkly scarf. “Robo-cop has a heart.”

And, disastrously, Chris said, “Buddy! I thought _I_ was your best friend.”

Ben started down at his drink, his own eyes wide, head fuzzy. He coudn’t think, couldn’t move. Small noises started in his throat, but no response came forward. Maybe it was his concern for Leslie’s heartbreak (which he felt in his own chest), maybe it was Donna’s joke (when has he _ever_ been allowed to have a heart, of all things?), maybe it was Ron’s attention still weighing on him (how pathetic must he be that a man so violently opposed to emotions asked him to share them), maybe it April’s damning insight, or maybe it was just the unholy combination of liquors in whatever-the-fuck snake juice was, but the only response Ben was capable of coming up with was faking a stroke. 

Then, like a witch descending from the night sky (an avenging _His Dark Materials-_ witch, not, like, the Witch-King of Angmar), April shouted: “Ben! Come see what Andy found!” and physically pulled him away by his shirt-sleeve. 

“Move, move, move,” she said, shoving people out of the way with her elbow. They passed Ron and Jerry, both giggling now (what the hell?), and marched them to the bathroom. Andy was standing outside the door, a guileless smile plastered on his flushed face, holding a jar of mints. A giant roll of toilet paper sat at his feet. 

“April!” he sweetly greeted, so in love. Ben really did feel like he was going into cardiac arrest. 

“Andy!” she barked. “Come on! We’re going!”

As they argued, Ben pressed his hand to his chest, wondering if his parents would hold separate funerals or if his death might bring them together again. Before he could start mentally reviewing his will, though, Andy was wrapping an arm around his shoulders and soon all three of them were in the club’s parking lot and heading towards the sidewalk. 

The cool air hit him, hard, and his legs crumpled. He ended up on the ground, leaning against the base of streetlamp. 

“Whoa, dude, you don’t look so good.”

Ben bent forward and breathed deeply in between his knees. 

“Wait, should we call an ambulance?” asked Andy, frenzied. 

“Nah, babe, he’s just panicking. He’s fine.”

Ben groaned, keeping his eyes closed. 

“No I’m not,” he said roughly. 

April sighed and then sat down next to him. She put a hand on his forearm, her palm softer than he was expecting, and said, “Yes, you are.”

Andy copied her, his hand warm and big on Ben’s shoulder. 

Ben finally looked up at them. The wild, gleeful look had disappeared from April’s eyes and Andy’s round face was lit up with affection. 

“I don’t know what’s going on,” said Andy very seriously. “But I do know that you’re one of the awesome-est people I know. If that helps.”

Ben sighed and stood, feeling ready to lock everything back up. 

“Alright,” he said. “Thanks guys.”

Andy crushed him into a hug which Ben forced himself not to feel. 

“I think I’m just going to head home,” he said, once Andy released him. 

“You sure?” asked Andy. 

“Yeah, yes, I’m sure,” said Ben. “It’s not a far walk. I need to sober up.”

Andy patted the top of his head. 

“Ben,” said April, as he checked he had his phone and wallet. “It’s okay. I promise.”

Ben looked at her and wanted to scream: _IS IT?_

But he nodded. 

“Seriously,” she insisted, fierce in a way he hadn’t seen in her before. “I won’t say anything. You’re okay.”

Ben ran his hand over his mouth and replied, “Thanks. I’ll see you at home, then.”

As he walked away he heard Andy ask, “Should I wrestle him? He’s super bottled up.”

* * *

Chris was still standing next to Donna near the dance floor when he saw Andy and April come back in, both looking far more serious than he was used to. 

“Where’s Ben?” he asked. It was weird to be the one on the outside when it came to Ben. The way his little face had drained of color only minutes before was _definitely_ going to feature in Chris's traumatic catastrophizing for a good while. He made a mental note to talk about it with Dr. Richard Nygard.

“Home,” said April simply. "Felt sick."

“Where's the little man?” asked Ron, walking up to them. 

“Home,” April repeated, snatching her hat off his head. 

“But he wasn’t even drunk yet,” said Ron. 

“Ben never gets drunk,” said Chris, frowning. 

Andy looked at April pointedly, and she elbowed him. 

“He didn’t look so hot before,” said Donna. “Did someone steal a piece from his train-set?”

“Yup,” said April quickly. “I did. Fed it the neighbors cat. He’s going home to cut it open.”

Andy giggled, leaning on her shoulder. 

“Anyway, Andy and I have some business to take care of,” she said, slipping her hat back on.

“Toilet paper!” Andy shouted as she dragged him away. 

Chris clenched his fists and breathed deeply through his nose. Ben was fine.

“Well that was interesting,” remarked Donna. 

“What was?” asked Ron, still looking mildly confused that his hat was gone. 

“She’s protecting Ben from something,” said Donna. “Not sure what though.”

“She said he wants to murder a cat.”

“Yeah, but she wasn’t happy about it. Normally she’s happy to say mean things.”

Ron glared at Donna, gaze unfocused, before grumbling about getting another drink and stumbling off. Just as Chris was about to ask Donna what Ben could possibly need protecting from, someone slammed into his shoulder, sending him into the table behind him. 

“Oh, sorry Chris,” said Ann, not looking very sorry as she reached for her jacket. 

“Ann, are you okay?” asked Chris, letting his hand hang over her arm. 

Ann looked up at him, shattered, and said with a smile, “Nope!” Then she walked off to meet a scruffy man holding her purse at the door. Chris and Donna looked at each other, eyebrows raised. 

“This snake juice is crazy,” said Donna. 

* * *

Somehow, they ended up in the hallway outside the bathroom. 

“If you’re worried about working with Chris, it doesn’t matter!” Leslie said. "He’s fine with it—he said it wouldn’t be weird.”

Ann’s jaw dropped, more offended than ever. 

“You talked to _Chris_ before you talked to _me_?” she asked shrilly. 

Leslie should’ve known this was a sore subject. She _did_ know it was a sore subject--one of the things that Ann was most embarrassed about, even more than the fact that she had ever dated Andy. Maybe that’s what this whole fight was about, really. Ann probably wasn’t over Chris, at all. Maybe she’s been dating around because she’s desperate for a re-bound from a relationship she had wanted to last. Maybe Leslie was more right about Ann and Chris than she wanted to be. 

(What was so great about Chris? Why were her two best friends so obsessed with such an intense fucking person?)

Ann stalked into the restroom as another girl walked out and Leslie followed. 

“I’m sorry I thought about you for the job, okay?” she said. Ann was now leaning against the bathroom counter and Leslie could see herself in the mirror--see the reckless color in her cheeks. “But sometimes if I don’t push you in the right direction, you end up standing still. I was just trying to do you a favor.”

This much, at least, was true. And relevant. It was getting harder and harder to keep track of what they were yelling about. 

Ann scoffed, tired and defensive. Then she looked straight into Leslie’s eyes and said loudly, “Well _enough_ with your favors!” She cut an arm across her chest. “Ok? Stop!”

This was perhaps as bad as it could get for Leslie, personally. She was a lot. She’d always known she was a lot. It’s why she worked so well as a public servant. If there was any group of people who were perpetually demanding, it was the regular citizens of a proud small town, and Leslie, by some curse or blessing, was someone with enough energy for all their issues. It was why she was friends with Ann, in the first place. Ann needed a lot, when they first met. Her only real friend was an overgrown baby who kept his cast on longer than he should because he liked being pampered. 

Now, though, what did Ann need from her? What did Ann want from her? Her energy and attention, once a great choice for filling the holes in Ann’s life, were redundant. The writing had been on the wall for awhile. The thirty-second catch-ups over coffee, the distance, and even Ann pushing over and over again for Leslie to make a move with Ben—they all told her what she should’ve known all along. She needed to stop. 

It was strange to see her heartbreak so savagely on her own face. Her reflection over Ann’s shoulder was scary and empty and pale and for the first time in Leslie’s life, she gave up. 

Ann still wasn’t looking at her, which made it easier for Leslie to say in an absolutely wretched voice, “It’s all I have. It’s all I can give.”

Ann frowned but kept her gaze on her shoes. “What are you talking about?” She sounded as if she was rolling her eyes. She sounded annoyed. 

Might as well wrap up her broken heart with a tiny bow. 

“It’s all I’m allowed to give you,” she explained. Her voice was unrecognizable—not even cold, just barren. “Favors.”

Ann was clearly just confused now. She tried to meet Leslie’s gaze, but Leslie’s gaze was on her own face in the mirror. 

“What do you mean ‘allowed’?” asked Ann, truly baffled. 

Leslie watched her face say, “I’ve always wanted to give you more. But you don’t want it.”

“Leslie,” said Ann, snapping her fingers. “Tell me what you are talking about.”

“I just wanted to work with you so I could see you more,” she said. Her hair looked a fright. She’d have to use extra conditioner tonight. “But it wouldn’t be enough. Ben was right. It wouldn’t be enough.”

Ann was silent. 

This was somehow the easiest part. Leslie was basically just having an honest conversation with herself. 

“I’m in love with you, Ann,” she said, blankly, to her reflection. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

Finally she turned her eyes away from the mirror and dropped them to the floor. It gave her a great bird’s-eye view of Ann’s boots walking out of the room. 

* * *

Chris helped pile everyone into Donna’s car and gave up his seat to Jerry so Donna wouldn’t tie him to the roof. He wished her luck and made his way back home. 

The night, in Chris’s opinion, was clean and freeing.

He had always really liked night-running. It was the only time he ran that felt “good” as opposed to “healthy.” He’d confessed this to Ben one night, in a tiny Best Western near the border of Illinois, and Ben had smiled at him and said, “I’m glad.” Chris thought about that smile, a lot. 

He made his way through the streets of Pawnee, glad, like Ben. It was good to stay somewhere for so long, to get to know it in this way. It was good to see Ben looking less like he was constantly in survival mode. He had told Chris that Leslie had asked him to stay, to “Build something.” This was such a perfect thing to ask, such a perfect thing for Leslie to say to Ben, that Chris knew in that moment the universe was good. It had sent them to Pawnee, given Ben what he needed, in the most unexpected way. And Chris was grateful. 

He turned at the corner of Ramsett Park, thought of parks and services, slides and swings, Leslie’s yellow hair, Ben’s clipboard at Harvest Festival, Ben in the passenger seat of the car flipping through his folder of CDs, Ben setting out Chris’s vitamins, Ben eating cup-noodle, Ben talking about _Star Wars_ , Ben in the sunset on the steps of the State Capitol in Indianapolis— turning his face to the marble building—washed over in gilded light—

Chris turned back around and made his way to Andy and April’s house. 


	3. Chapter 3

Ann lay on her front lawn. Something she would miss about small towns, if she ever left Pawnee, would be how quiet it got at night, how she could let herself feel isolated in the world if she just stood on her empty street past sunset. So relieved was she with this solitude that the sound of a car driving past genuinely startled her. 

She poked her head up and saw Donna’s Mercedes on the other side of the road. Ron was stumbling out of it and tripping his way over to Ann. 

“Goodnight!” called Donna through her window, before driving off. 

“What are you doing here, Ron?” Ann asked as he flopped down on the grass next to her. 

“I’m not telling Donna where I _live_ ,” he giggled, like he'd never heard a thought more ridiculous. “I’ll just sober up here and be out of your hair in the morning.”

“What, here in my yard?” she asked. 

“Hmm,” he said. 

Ann had no energy to respond properly to this, so she turned back to tracking a wispy cloud in the sky. She let herself relax. It was nice, really: laying on the grass next to someone she trusts, someone who has never once expected anything of her. 

“Can I ask you something?” she asked. 

“No,” he said. 

“Then I’m going to tell you something,” she said. “And if you ever repeat this to anyone, ever, I will personally strangle you with your own mustache.”

“I’m already trying to forget it.”

“Good,” she said. Then sighed. 

“Leslie,” she started, and just saying her name made her throat hurt. “Leslie told me she’s in love with me.”

Ron said nothing. 

“Ron,” she prompted, tapping him with the back of her hand. 

He grunted and said, “And?”

“What, that’s it?” she asked. 

“Emily—” he started.

“ _Ann._ ”

“Why are you telling me.”

Ann thought the answer to that was fairly obvious. “You’re like a grumpy wise grandpa. I want to know what you think.”

“Think about what?”

“Ron, seriously.”

He groaned. 

“What’s your question, exactly?”

“Leslie is in love with me.”

He burped. “That sounds like a statement.”

Ann blinked. 

“I mean, what am I supposed to do?”

“Sleep.”

“I _mean_ , what am I supposed to do about Leslie?”

“Why.”

“She’s in love with me!”

“You said.”

“ _Ron_.”

He groaned again, putting a hand on his face. 

“Parsons—”

“Perkins.”

“What’s the problem. Be specific.”

Ann sat up and glared down at him. He didn’t say anything else, looking like he was about to conk out right there. She breathed deeply and then said, “Leslie is in love with me.”

“Why is that a problem.”

Ann frowned. “It isn’t.”

“So what is.”

“I don’t love her. I mean, I do, just not like that.”

“Why is that a problem.”

“Because she loves me like that.”

“And?”

“I don’t feel the same!”

“Does she want you to?”

“What? Who doesn’t want the person they love to love them back?”

“Did she _say_ that.”

“I don’t understand what you’re even asking.”

“Did she say, ‘I want you to love me back.’”

Ann thought and said slowly, “Well, no, not in so many words.”

“Did she ask you for anything?”

Ann focused, tugging at the grass between her legs. “No. She just told me.”

“Okay. So it sounds like she’s not the one with the problem, then.”

Ann leaned over and flicked his arm. He didn’t react to it. 

“I feel like you’re not paying attention,” she sighed. 

“Leslie is in love with you. She didn’t ask you to love her back. She didn’t ask you on a date. Seems like she already knows how you feel and was just telling you how she feels. Where’s the problem.”

It was possibly the most he had ever said to her at once. Ann’s head swam with frustration.

“The _problem_ ,” she said, tossing grass at his face. “Is that I’ve lost my best friend because I’ve hurt her because I don’t love her the same way she loves me.”

“I’ve known Leslie for a long time. She’s not going to stop being your friend.”

“Things will be weird.”

“She’s weird about everything.”

Ann wanted to scream. 

“Can you please stop being so fucking calm about my heartbreak?” she hissed. 

Ron opened his eyes and squinted at her. “ _Your_ heartbreak?”

Ann spluttered, “You know what I mean! It’s heartbreaking to lose such a good friend!”

“You’re not losing her. She’s like a leech. She ain't going anywhere until you pluck her off and feed her to a bobcat.”

“Okay, I get that. But that doesn’t mean things won’t _change_ ,” she insisted, getting another fistful of grass up. 

“What things?”

“Ugh, you _know_!” she said, waving her hand vaguely. “We won’t be as close.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” she flailed. “Because it’ll be hard for her.”

“Why?”

“Because she’ll want to get over me! So she won’t hang around as much.”

“So?”

“So!” she wanted shake him. “She won’t text me five-hundred times a day. She won’t buy me nail polish just because she saw it the supermarket and the color reminded her of me! She won’t drive me home from awkward dates! She won’t watch the Oscars with me! She won’t—”

Ann was crying now, she was sure of it, only she couldn’t feel it. She could only feel a enormous hole growing darker in her chest, threatening to suffocate her fully. 

“She won’t come to me with her problems! She won’t tell me about her weird dreams! She won’t ask me to be with her on the anniversary of her Dad’s death! She won’t tell me about the books she’s reading or the movies she’s watching! She won’t take me with her to the park or let me buy her coffee or fall asleep on my arm because she doesn’t know how take care of herself!”

The darkness had subsumed her. She launched herself to her feet, clutched at her hair, and turned to Ron, still spread out on the lawn, squinting up at her. 

“Do you think anyone else knows how to take care of her?” she begged him. “Do you think they know what movies she can and can’t watch on a weeknight, what to do if she gets manic at 10 pm, how to sneak vegetables into her food and vitamins into her coffee? Do you think anyone could _ever_ appreciate her the way I do?”

Ron grunted and asked, “How do you appreciate her?”

“Like she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me!” Ann yelled. “Like her _life_ is the best thing that’s ever happened to me! Like her life is the best thing that happened to the entire--fucking--world!”

Ron closed his eyes again and muttered, “Well, shit.”

Ann was breathing hard, feeling even more lost than before.

“So what’s the problem again?” he asked. 

Ann screamed into her hands. Then shouted, “The _problem_ is that I can’t _be_ with her anymore!”

Ron opened his eyes and looked hard at her. 

“Nurse,” he said, which was typical. “If I tell you what I think, will you let me sleep?”

Ann nodded rapidly. 

He let out a deep whine which turned into another burp and then said, “Okay. I think you need to stop thinking ‘can’t’ and ‘should.’ There is no more ‘can’t’ or ‘should.’ Now I’m going to ask you a question and you’re not allowed to answer it if you’re thinking about ‘can’t or ‘should.’”

“Okay,” said Ann, feeling genuinely crazy. 

“What do you want?”

Ann concentrated on the question for only a second and then burst into tears. 

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” she wailed. 

“Yeah, you do.”

“I _don’t_ , Ron! Do you know how many boyfriends I’ve had in the past four months? Do you know how many dates I’ve been on? Do you know why I even moved to Pawnee? Do you know why I was dating Andy? Cause _I_ sure fucking _don’t_. I don’t know anything!”

“Yeah, you do.”

Ann breathed shrilly at him, like a bull. 

“Just think. Find one thing, _one thing_ in your entire life, that you’re sure about.”

In a flash of golden hair, Ann suddenly remembered a moment nearly a year ago, curled up with Leslie on her couch, watching _Friday Night Lights_ , and Leslie had said, half-asleep and dopey, “You’re the Tami to my Coach.” 

The phrase now was running wild in Ann’s head. _You’re the Tami to my Coach. You’re the Tami to my Coach. You’re the Tami to my Coach._

But what did that mean? a voice asked in her head, sounding very like Ron. Or Nurse Rosenblatt.

_You’re the Tami to my Coach._

_You’re there for me even when I’m an asshole. You accept my unhealthy obsessions. You inspire me. You support me. You’re the other half of me. You’re the other half of my life. You’re my wife._

With the quiet of the moment, the absolute vulnerability of the night-sky, her loose muscles, her alcohol-loose head, and Ron’s deeply matter-of-fact tone, Ann felt something deep within her give way. 

“I want _her_ ,” said Ann. “With me. Always.”

Her breathing returned to normal and, exhausted, she flopped down on the grass. 

“Okay,” Ron muttered. “For what it’s worth, I think she’ll stay if you ask.”

Then he passed out.

* * *

Ben sat between April and Andy on their couch. Andy had draped his sweaty FBI jacket over Ben’s front, for some reason, and April had stretched her legs over Ben’s lap. It was the most extended contact with another person that Ben had had in years, and that, combined with the stupid amount of alcohol in his system, was making everything seem drippy and surreal. 

He had forced very large glasses of water on everyone, and they were slowly sipping their way through them, when there was a knock on the door. 

April shot up, grabbing the marshmallow gun, and skirted round the corner holding it aloft. When she opened the door, Ben heard her say, “What do you want!”

“Don’t shoot,” came Chris’s voice and suddenly Ben felt sober. He sat up quickly, heart thumping. 

“Okay, boss,” whispered Andy loudly. “What’s our next move? Back-flip through the window? I’ll call a ‘copter.”

“Hey, this guy’s here,” said April, leading Chris into the living room, gesturing with the end of marshmallow gun. She plopped back down next to Ben and put her legs back over his lap.

“Chris! Hey!” greeted Andy, grabbing onto April’s foot, locking Ben in. 

Chris came into the room, his hair fluffy, his smile soft, his sweater soft. Ben wanted to throw up.

“Hey guys,” he said, standing in front of the TV, hands in his pockets. “I was wondering if I could talk to Ben?”

“Ben’s right here,” said April, poking Ben’s cheek.

“I see that,” said Chris cheerfully, as un-reactive to her sarcasm as ever. “I was hoping to talk to him alone, if that’s alright?”

He directed his last question at Ben. Ben's instincts regarding Chris, at this point, were finely honed and he tried to get up without thinking about it. 

April pushed his hips back down with her leg and, Andy, following her lead, wrapped his arm around Ben’s shoulders. 

“Anything you have to say to Ben, you can say in front of us,” said April, with a fake sort of geniality. She leveled her marshmallow gun at Chris again. 

Chris blinked, eyes steady but arms taut. 

“Guys,” said Ben, now concerned. “Let me up.”

“Nope!” said Andy with a giggle, adding his own leg to Ben’s lap. “Just pretend we’re not here, Chris.”

April grinned up at him, which was a little scary. 

Chris looked between the three of them, face growing slightly red, and then he took a deep breath and said, “Ok.”

He sat down on the carpet, legs crossed, and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. 

“Dr. Richard Nygard told me that sometimes its easier to write things down and read them off than just to say them,” said Chris with a friendly smile. Ben struggled once more against April and Andy (this was evidently going to be personal and he, both selfishly and un-selfishly, didn’t want them to hear it). They held fast. 

Chris cleared his throat as he unfolded the paper and then met Ben’s eyes. They were clear and sweet and everything that kept Ben moving, everything that Ben loved about the world. 

“Ben,” said Chris. Then he looked down at his piece of paper and began to read:

“You’re my best friend. You keep me grounded. I need you. But I also like you more than anyone else I've ever known.”

Ben was rapidly losing the ability to compartmentalize. 

“ _Also_ also,” continued Chris. “I love you.”

Ben was definitely going to throw up. 

Still looking at his paper, Chris asked, “Can I take you to dinner?”

Then he folded it up, put it back in his pocket, and looked up. 

Andy gasped and shook Ben’s shoulder. “Awwww!” he said. “That was so sweet!”

April let loose several rounds of marshmallows to bounce harmlessly of Chris’s chest and then exclaimed pompously “What will you give us in return for Ben’s hand?”

Ben gaped and let out a single, strangled, cracking, “What.”

Chris swallowed and tipped forward onto his knees, sitting a little taller. “I took the City Manager position,” he said, eyes filling with tears but still smiling softly. “Because I hated being away from you. At first I couldn’t see why I was so unhappy but then I got the call and I didn’t even think about it before saying”—he choked and brought a fist up to his mouth to bite briefly on his thumb— “yes,” he squeaked.

Now he was fully weeping. 

“Dr. Richard Nygard told me that it’s healthy to be honest,” he said through his shallow sobs. “And, to me, you’re like a B-12 vitamin.”

It was this that finally shocked Ben into movement. Andy and April let him up and he shot forward and landed on his knees in front of Chris. 

“Chris,” he breathed, bringing shaking hands up to his face to wipe away the tears. Just that was possibly the most precious experience of Ben's life. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Chris nodded, hiccuping. 

“I would love to go to dinner with you,” said Ben, voice thick. 

“Really?” asked Chris pathetically. He really was not a pretty crier. 

“Yeah,” whispered Ben. “I mean, I’ve only been in love with you for five years.”

Chris’s eyes widened and then he was falling against Ben’s shoulder, strong arms wrapped around Ben’s waist. He squeezed and the pleasant warmth of it sent black spots into Ben’s vision. 

Andy cooed behind them and dropped down to scoop them both in a hug. 

“ _Guys,_ ” he said, sounding teary himself. “You guys are in love.”

Chris pressed his face into Ben’s neck and murmured, “I know this great vegan place about an hour from here.”

Ben ran his hands down Chris’s back, sure the bliss of it would kill him in a couple seconds. 

“Sure,” he replied, going insane. “That sounds good.”

“Ugh,” whined April. “Why haven’t you kissed already?”

Ben felt Chris smile against his neck and then suddenly Ben’s face was cradled between two of the most beautiful hands in the world. 

“My B-12 vitamin,” Chris whispered. And then he kissed him. 

At that point, the fuzziness washed away. Chris’s stubble, his sweet mouth, the strength of his palm, and the breath against Ben’s cheek were real. He smelled a bit like patchouli incense. His lips were soft and they curved against Ben’s delicately. 

When they parted, Andy, still very much hugging them both, cheered in Ben’s ear and April littered them with marshmallows. Ben grinned and fell against Chris’s chest. 

“Seriously, though,” said April. “If you want to date him, you have to pay a fee.”

* * *

Leslie’s alarm went off at 5:30. She rose, showered, threw up, showered again, got dressed, threw up, changed her outfit, and then sat at her kitchen table at 6:30 and stared at her toast. 

At 7:03, she got in her car and drove to work. 

She sat and stared at a plain bagel in her office. 

The clock in the corner ticked.

All of a sudden, a JJ Diner’s take-out box dropped in front of her. She looked up and Ben and Chris stood there, both holding equally large containers of whipped cream and a tray of coffees. 

“What.” she croaked, wondering if trying to smile would actually break her face. 

Chris grabbed the chair by the door and pushed it behind her desk. Then he collapsed into it and picked up one of her hands. 

“Good morning, Leslie,” he said with a smile. 

“Uh-huh,” she said. 

“We brought you a soy vanilla latte,” said Ben, coming round the other side of her desk and leaning back against it. He held out one of the travel-cups and said, “Chris says soy milk is good on an upset stomach.”

She took the cup, her other hand still in Chris’s. 

“Um,” she said, eloquently. 

“Just drink,” said Ben gently. “It’s okay.”

Leslie looked up at him and he placed a hand on the side of her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb once before dropping his hand to her shoulder. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he said steadily. “I promise.”

She nodded and took a sip of the latte. It was warm and sweet and chased away the tension behind her eyes. She took another sip and focused on how it made its way down her throat, how the heat bloomed underneath her ribs. 

She looked up at Ben again and said, “If you ever leave, I’ll kill you.”

Chris squeezed her hand and Ben hopped up onto her desk, the first truly unprofessional thing she’d ever seen him do. 

“Leslie,” he said with a smile. “If _you_ ever leave, I’ll _follow_ you.”

Leslie took another sip of her latte and then tipped forward to rest her head on his thigh. 

He stroked her hair and Chris stroked her back.

* * *

As Ann opened the door to city-hall, she realized her sweater was on backwards. She tried to muster up the ability to care but the effort sent her to the restroom to hurl. 

She passed by Tom and Andy at the shoe-stand (both looking wretched), accidentally tripped over Councilman Houser, and ran into a closed glass door. While she sat outside the conference room, rubbing her stinging forehead, she clocked the trashcan in the corner and filed its position away in case the need for it arose. 

“Ann?” Ben stood in the doorway, somehow looking serene in all his hungover glory. His voice was gentler than normal. “We’re ready for you.”

Ann jumped up, dropped her folder, picked it back up, and followed him through the door. 

“Shut-up,” she ground out as she passed him, making his smirk grow. 

Leslie was sitting at the desk, pinching the bridge of her nose. She looked up as Ann shuffled in and smiled. 

_God, she was so good at her job_ , thought Ann, trying to return the smile and feeling quite sure it more resembled a grimace. 

“Ann,” said Leslie, gesturing to the seat opposite her. “Thanks for meeting with us today.”

Ben and Ann both sat down as Ann replied, “Thanks for having me.”

_Nailed it._

“Okay,” said Ben, lining up the papers in front of him and clicking his dumb, fancy pen. “So I think we’re just gonna give a quick overview of the job, just to make sure we’re all on the same page, and then ask some basic questions about your interests and experience. Sound good?”

Ann nodded which made her brain feel not-good. 

“Did you bring a copy of your CV?” asked Leslie, friendly and perfect. 

Ann nodded again, like an idiot. 

Ben and Leslie both waited. Ann waited. 

“Do you think we might be able to see it?” asked Ben nicely. 

“Oh!” said Ann, reaching to remove the papers from her folder. “Right. Here you go.”

“Great,” said Ben, tossing her a quick grin. “Let’s get started.”

“So basically for this position, we’re looking for someone with a substantial interest in Public Health and Policy,” said Leslie, looking down at her notes. “As the Public Relations director, you would be responsible for bridging the gap between healthcare professionals and municipal public servants. You would also be a direct line of communication about ongoing health policy and the first point of contact between the City and its citizens, regarding Public Health.”

Leslie paused and looked up at her. Ann nodded again. Her head screamed. 

“Excellent,” said Leslie. “Now, can you tell us a little about yourself? Why you are applying to this position?”

Ann nodded. 

“I think we should get married,” she said. 

There was a small thunk as Ben dropped his fancy pen. Leslie gaped at her. 

“e _xcuseme_ ,” Leslie breathed out in quick exhale. 

“Uh,” said Ben. 

Ann all at once felt brave. More courageous than she’d ever felt before. 

“I think we should get married,” said Ann, again, voice stronger. 

“I think I’m gonna—” Ben made to get up but Leslie’s arm snatched his sleeve like a viper and pulled him back down. Her eyes never left Ann’s.

“Hm, wha—, uh, ok, um—,” said Leslie huskily, mouth twisting. “Um.” 

“I want you to be my wife,” said Ann. 

“Wow _,_ ” gasped Ben under his breath. 

Leslie made a small grunting noise but continued to stare, bewildered. 

Ann put her folder on the desk and opened it. She un-tucked from the front pocket a gold ring, adorned with a small pearl, framed with tiny pink diamonds.

“This was my grandmother’s engagement ring,” explained Ann. “She gave it to me when she died but I could never bring myself to wear it. I wanted it to be on _her_ hand, you know? 'Cause I loved her, and people that are alive wear rings and people that aren’t alive don’t wear rings.” _That almost made sense._ “Anyway, I figured if it went on the hand of someone _else_ that I love, then that would be good.”

Ben said, louder, “ _Wow_.”

“Um,” said Ann. “So.”

Leslie just stared at her. 

“Also, I think I’m gay,” said Ann. She had _told_ herself not to forget that bit. 

Leslie, hand still gripped on Ben’s arm, let her head fall down hard on the desk. 

“I want to take care of you for the rest of my life,” said Ann, her body so relaxed into the honesty, the first sort of _rightness_ she had felt in such a long time, that the words just kept coming. “And you said you were in love with me. And since I’m in love with you, I think we should get married.”

Leslie lifted her head, tears running steadily down her face, some deep light within her eyes.

“It’s legal in Iowa,” said Ann. “And Massachusetts.”

Then she popped up, out of her seat and walked around the desk. She reached out and cupped Leslie’s chin with her fingers and tilted it up. 

“I’m going to kiss you, now,” said Ann. “Since you love me. And I love you.”

Leslie nodded. 

“Let go of Ben, honey,” said Ann softly. 

Leslie released his suit and he scampered through out the door. 

The morning light suddenly cleared the clouds and the room was bathed in gold. It washed across Leslie’s face, setting off her hair like flames. Ann teared up at the sight, of Leslie resting her face so tenderly in her palms, of the smell of her perfume, of her blue eyes shining. Then slowly, she lowered her lips to meet hers. 

The rush of pure relief in Ann's ears nearly drowned out Leslie’s sweet gasp. Ann’s eyes fell closed and her chin quivered with the onslaught of emotion. She slid her fingers back behind Leslie’s head and pushed forward, kissing her soft bottom lip, sucking on it, kissing again. Leslie parted her mouth and soon Ann was too euphoric to think. _God._

When they parted, Ann kept her nose pressed to Leslie’s and her hands tangled in her hair. Leslie’s hands were on her waist and if Ann focused too much on that, she would absolutely pass out. 

“Oh my god,” said Ann, to Leslie, but also to herself. “Kissing is so _nice_.”

* * *

Ben ventured back through the door about five minutes after he had left to find Leslie now sitting on the front of the desk, Ann standing between her knees, giggling against Ann’s shoulder. 

“He literally told me when he dropped me off I wasn’t allowed to sue if he didn’t use my name on the show,” said Ann, her hands moving up and down Leslie’s arm and brushing the hair off her neck. Leslie’s own hands were twirling the red strands behind Ann’s ear. 

“I wonder if he gets sued a lot,” asked Leslie through another laugh. 

Ann grinned at her and said, “I wonder if he introduces himself in court as ‘The Douche.”

“As much as I love this,” interrupted Ben. “We do have the next interview in ten minutes. 

“Booo,” said Leslie, attaching her hands to Ann’s hips. 

“Oh, right,” said Ann. “Can I have a do over?”

* * *

“You know something?” asked Leslie through a mouthful of whipped cream. Ben had taken them to JJ’s when they finished with the interviews, after Ann had gone back to the Hospital and Chris went to his afternoon meeting. 

“What?” he asked, rearranging his sandwich. 

“Maybe we don’t have to run for office in a small town,” mused Leslie. “Maybe we just have to think bigger.”

Ben replied, “Crazier things have happened.”

As he chewed, Leslie grinned at him impishly. 

“Also,” she said, putting her chin in her hand, the pearl on her finger gleaming. “I’m not sure you’ve realized this…”

“Realized what?” he said, swallowing. 

“We could _still_ have a double wedding.”

Ben looked at her sunny face and let his lungs swoop with joy. He smiled, unrestrained. 

“I think Chris might like that,” he replied softly, stupidly. 

“Whatever happens,” said Leslie. “You’re not getting married without me at your side.”


End file.
